


What Cannot Be Said Will Be Spelled

by midnight_etudes



Series: Pupcake Patchwork [7]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_etudes/pseuds/midnight_etudes
Summary: It's an innocent evening upstairs at Nonnatus... until the conversation gets a bit out of hand.
Relationships: Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Series: Pupcake Patchwork [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693711
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	What Cannot Be Said Will Be Spelled

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is set at the end of Season 5 in that little window where Delia's memory is back, she's moved into Nonnatus, and Patsy hasn't gotten news about her father yet. TV shows never give characters enough time to lean into their happiness!

“Well, like you said. _Someone’s_ got to make the first move at some point.” Barbara shrugged and sat back against the headboard of Patsy’s bed.

“Yes, but ‘Nun’? On the starting double-word score?” asked Trixie impatiently. Said nuns had taken all the overnight shifts on this particular evening and so the rest of the midwives were crowded onto the two beds in Trixie and Patsy’s room for a friendly get-together.

“What would you suggest, Trixie?” asked Patsy mischievously. “Cervix?”

“Ooh yes,” said Trixie. “That would be excellent! There’s a lot I could do with an ‘x’,” She bent her head to ponder her tiles again. “Sorry, Babs. I just can’t do a thing with ‘N’s and you’ve put down two of them!”

“Then I call that well played,” said Nurse Crane from the lone chair. “Frustrate the enemy!”

“The enemy, Nurse Crane? Surely that’s a bit harsh for a friendly game?” teased Delia as she handed Patsy a discreetly spiked version of the lemonade, gave her a private smile, and crossed back to sit next to Trixie.

“While I best you at Scrabble, it’s Phyllis,” Phyllis answered. “Now I don’t suppose you lot will allow Spanish words tonight? I’ve been progressing in my studies and it would be a shame to waste all of this newfound knowledge.”

“Only if you forgo English,” smiled Trixie.

“On no, don’t go making exceptions even then,” warned Patsy. “Or Delia will go claiming c-n-y-c-h-u is a word in Welsh.”

“Well, it is!” said Delia, turning slightly pink.

“What does it mean?” asked Barbara.

“Doesn’t matter, only the Queen’s English. Got it,” said Delia quickly. Patsy looked at her with an eyebrow raised. As she recalled, she’d asked the same question when Delia tried to use the word the first time but she’d been answered with a kiss so passionate that the board slid off the bed onto the floor. It hadn’t been missed. _Oh._ Delia’s answering blush confirmed it. _Oh. **That’s** what it meant._ Trixie caught on to the meaning too, although hopefully not to the context Delia and Patsy were remembering.

“Delia, you minx!” she said delightedly, bumping her sideways. “That’s not a word you’d use in front of your mam, is it?”

“Well, there are a lot of those, but yes. I suppose it might not be in a Welsh dictionary, either,” admitted Delia. “But I had two ‘C’s and it was perfect!” She looked sheepishly at Patsy, who smiled tolerantly at the room to hide her panic. Barbara was even redder than Delia, fortunately. To her, this was just run-of-the-mill mischief. Patsy hoped.

“Well, what have you got for us, Trixie?” Patsy asked. Clearly, she’d have to be careful with the special lemonade. Things were getting out of hand already.

* * * * *

Delia would _have_ to be careful with that lemonade. Two allusions to sex in one round? Patsy seemed perfectly at ease, putting on a record as Phyllis plotted her next move, but Delia knew she was privately striving to put her composure back together. It had been difficult to be as careful as before, now that they were living under the same roof so close and yet so far from their cozy little flat with its double bed. Oh, how Delia longed to grab Patsy and pull her close for a moment as she walked past on her way back to the bed! Or make Barbara trade places and just lean over Patsy’s shoulder giving ludicrous advice on her next word. But practically everyone they knew was crowded into the room, with Sister Julienne downstairs by the phone to top it all off. _So keep it innocent, Busby_ , Delia warned herself sternly.

“G-A-T, there’s the E, W-A-Y-S” spelled Phyllis. “Gateways, for 84 points.” Trixie moaned in mock horror. Barbara clapped. Patsy gaped, and for all her new resolutions Delia couldn’t help herself—she had a fit of the giggles.

“Yes, Patsy, this does put her eight points ahead of you,” confirmed Barbara blithely. “Well _done_ , Phyllis!”

“How dare you,” said Patsy weakly. Delia giggled some more. The others were looking at her.

“It’s just, it’s just…” Delia frantically racked her brain for an explanation that wasn’t her mental image of Phyllis doing quite well indeed with the older ladies of the Gateways Club.

“Never underestimate an old spinster,” said Phyllis. Delia, still breathless, shook her head that she wouldn’t, then nodded to show she agreed, then changed her mind and tried shaking her head again, to be clearer. “The stories I could tell you…” continued Phyllis.

“Oh do,” said Patsy, clinging desperately to safer ground. “Tell us about your adventures Phyllis.”

“Yes!” agreed Trixie. “Do tell. I know you have some simply scandalous moments in your past.”

“I’m sure I do not,” huffed Phyllis. “A scandal is when people make a fuss. I simply have a life that I hope has been well lived. No regrets.”

Delia sighed. _If only._

“So you don’t regret never getting married?” asked Barbara. Delia felt Trixie stiffen beside her and Patsy looked at her own would-be fiancée for only a split second before shifting her focus to Trixie as well. Really, Barbara!

Trixie, suddenly finding all eyes on her, got up to freshen her drink. There was only lemonade, seltzer, and mint on the mantle but she seemed satisfied to bustle there for a bit. Delia let out a silent sigh and looked back to Patsy. What would it be like to be married? To walk down the street arm in arm and cook dinner for each other? Patsy gave no answer other than a tightly clenched hand on the bedspread. Barbara, realizing that she had put her foot in it, was monopolizing Patsy’s attention with a silent, pantomimed rehashing of her comment. Barreling forward through all of this, Phyllis proved fully capable of handling the situation.

“Now marriage is a choice that’s not as suitable for the general public as people would have you believe. Why, I think a number of us here have weighed its merits and found them lacking.” Phyllis had Patsy’s attention once again.

“It’s certainly not the only path in life,” agreed Delia carefully. “Especially when the boys all smell like sheep!”

“Yes, I far prefer the unshakable odor of amniotic fluid,” said Patsy with a smile that was only a little bit forced.

“Just wait for lambing time and you can have it all!” promised Delia.

“Independence is the thing,” continued Phyllis. “That’s why I have my automobile.”

“And she won’t tell you who’s been in it!” said Trixie, rallying to the distraction.

“Frederico García Lorca, most recently,” said Phyllis dryly.

“Who?” asked Barbara curiously. “Have you come up with a new nickname for Fred?” The rest of the room dissolved into riotous laughter and the tension passed. For a bit.

* * * * *

“Patsy, come help me with this next one,” called Delia. Well, what could she do? Patsy got up and perched awkwardly on the very edge of the pillow, pressed up against the bedside table so as to avoid being pressed up against Delia. Although Delia looked ever so much more comfortable. Patsy sighed and looked down at Delia’s tiles.

“Bloody hell,” she said.

“Exactly,” said Delia, looking at the letters “E, I, A, L, S, B, and N.”

“I’d say that’s a mulligan,” ventured Patsy in a croaking voice. “Turn them in and try again.”

“But I can’t take a mulligan, I have vowels,” whispered Delia.

“Oh, let’s see,” said Trixie, beginning to lean over towards Delia as well.

“I found it!” declared Patsy quickly, placing B-L-A-S-E down through GATEWAYS.

“Oh Pats,” said Delia, “Perfect. That’s so exactly you!” She turned to Patsy with a dimpled smile of thanks and relief, then turned away quickly before she lost control of her face.

“Now hold on a minute, lass,” said Phyllis. “That’s a French word. I don’t see an accent over that E. We can’t allow that.” But Barbara flipped quickly through the Scrabble dictionary to their defense.

“No, it’s in here,” she said after a moment. “They can use it. But you knew that, didn’t you?” she asked after at glace at Phyllis.

“Oh, it’s in there. But since we were playing with special rules about foreign languages I thought it might be worth a challenge. Go ahead then.”

Delia scored her word and drew replacement tiles, relieved to see a ‘J’ and a ‘Q’ clutter up her tile rack. She almost thanked Patsy again, but bit her tongue at the realization that thanks might sound like a dismissal, and that Patsy would promptly retreat back to the other bed. Instead, for about five minutes, Delia sat next to two inches of air that were touching Patsy on the other side until Patsy had to go back and make her move.

* * * * *

As Barbara faded and Phyllis triumphantly excused herself, Patsy silently collected the dishes. Naturally, Delia helped Patsy carry the cups down while Trixie began her nightly beauty regimen.

“Christ, Deels, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Patsy whispered once they entered the relative safety of the kitchen.

“It wasn’t me!” protested Delia, turning on the water and swishing the cups around to further mask their conversation. “Are you okay, Pats?” Patsy nodded, but paused to take several deep breaths anyway. “It was certainly an interesting evening! When you spelled out s-c-r-e-w in Welsh, and then Phyllis used ‘Gateways’…”

“…and then opined on how most of us probably didn’t need men,” finished Patsy. “You don’t think she..?”

“No, I think she was aiming to protect Trixie,” said Delia. “And accidentally implicated us to keep Trixie company. Besides, I don’t think she’d blink an eye at us.”

Patsy took a deep breath, tightened her lips, and tilted her head in a manner Delia knew would lead to a lecture on caution if she didn’t interrupt. “Don’t fret, cariad. I'm not planning to make any announcements. Another day and we’re still safe.” She reached up to rub Patsy’s back but felt Patsy’s shoulders stiffen under her touch as they both heard a footfall in the hallway.

“Shhh! Someone’s coming!” They hurriedly faced forward and set about washing and drying the cups so efficiently that they were done before the interloper entered.

“ 'The gleaming stars all about the shining moon  
Hide their bright faces, when full-orbed and splendid  
In the sky she floats, flooding the shadowed earth  
with clear silver light.’

"Sappho shines in the very ether this evening. Have you two found any cake hidden away?” This was too much for Patsy. She bent over the sink and her breathing became ragged. Delia took a quick peek to make sure Patsy was all right, then turned to answer.

“No, I’m sorry Sister Monica Joan,” she said, just barely managing a straight face. “But you’d be welcome to it if we had. We don’t particularly like cake.” Only an unruly dimple popped out to betray her wickedness. Beside her, Patsy’s silent shaking turned to great big sobs of laughter that sent tears down her cheeks.

Sister Monica Joan patted Patsy on the shoulder. “Well, ‘What cannot be said will be wept.’ All will be well my child. Your friend will care for you. But,” Sister Monica Joan raised an admonishing finger for particular emphasis, “do not neglect the cheering power of cake.” With that, she wandered back out of the kitchen leaving Patsy in hysterics. Delia reached out and tentatively rubbed her back again.

“I’m sorry love, I know. It’s so stressful and I’m being careful, really I am. I do think we made it through another night with no one the wiser. And now we get to have a moment together and that’s worth it, isn’t it?”

“Fine… I’m fine…” gasped Patsy, sinking down to the floor and leaning against the cabinets. “I suppose I must have really needed a good cry. Or laugh. Did she really just quote…?” Patsy took a long, shaky breath. “Oh, I bloody well give up. This is too much. We need our own flat.”

“No arguments there,” replied Delia, glad to see Patsy calming down, smiling, and not cross over her reply to Sister Monica Joan.

“Except from your mam.”

“Well, what does she know? Doesn’t even approve of me using my best Welsh words during Scrabble.” Delia’s cheeky smile melted into a tender one. Patsy’s normally creamy face was blotchy from the tears and she’d left her hair down for the evening, at Delia’s request. Delia crouched down, reached out to stroke Patsy’s cheek, and gently placed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Let me tell you,” said Patsy, smiling up at her love and sighing at the thought of the separate beds that awaited them upstairs, “I had no idea that game was so dangerous!”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been an unintentional third wheel to closeted friends (imagine their surprise when I came out!) and wanted to explore how that would feel from the other side.
> 
> As I got into this fic I realized its setting is really similar to ChipsintheChapel's story from earlier in this series, except with the secret intact. But where else are their personal dramas going to play out? And how can anyone write Phyllis without reference to Lorca? So I'll claim to have been unintentionally influenced exactly as much as is within the parameters of this series game and no more, but definitely go back and read Chips's story too!


End file.
